


The Goose (Inspired by The Raven by Egdar Allan Poe)

by GlitterNyappyGacktRose



Category: The Raven - Edgar Allan Poe, Untitled Goose Game (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Inspired by Poetry, Parody, Poetry, Quote: Honk (Untitled Goose Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:55:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21778660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitterNyappyGacktRose/pseuds/GlitterNyappyGacktRose
Summary: I'm the bad goose... duh!A poem about the Goose from Untitled Goose Game, in the format of Egdar Allan Poe's "The Raven".
Comments: 10
Kudos: 26





	The Goose (Inspired by The Raven by Egdar Allan Poe)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Raven](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/542065) by Egdar Allan Poe. 



Once within my garden cheery, while I weeded, tired and weary,

Trimming and pruning on my hands and knees on the garden floor-

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at the small shed door-

“’Tis some animal,” I muttered, “tapping at my small shed door-

Only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in a bright September;

And a single white bird feather blew across the garden floor.

Eagerly I worked away, trimming the hedges, merry and gay,

Delighted with the sunny day. But this delight would be here no more-

For this neat, well-maintained garden, would exist nevermore-

Chaos here for evermore.

And with the swinging garden gate, an angry hiss of vicious hate

Chilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors right down to my core.

Filled with fear, my pants a crapping, the gentle sound of wings flapping.

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,

“It’s just some animal tapping at my tiny garden shed door;-

That is it and nothing more.”

Presently my will grew stronger, hesitating then no longer,

“Bird,” said I, “or animal, truly your forgiveness I implore.

But while I was calmly weeding, under the sun, sweat a beading,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my small shed door,

That I was unsure I heard you”- here I looked to the shed door;-

Garden tools and nothing more.

Deep into the small shed peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no gardener dared to dream before;

But once again, silence unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered words, “wherefore?”

This I whispered. But there was naught but tools upon the garden floor.

Merely this and nothing more.

Back to the weeding, turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my small garden shed;

It can’t all be in my head. And this mystery I will explore-

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-

‘Tis the wind and nothing more!”

Once again, I picked up the spade, planting some carrots in the shade,

Then in stepped a single goose, its snowy feathers I do abhor;

Straight ahead the goose did bound and plucked my carrots from out the ground,

Wandered the garden all around. Oh, what chaos it had in store,

For my dear precious garden! It wandered around my garden floor,

Filled with chaos, nothing more.

This white bird stood still and staring, oblivious to my angry glaring,

With the blank, emotionless decorum of defiance it wore.

I sighed. “What is this, a goose? This is my garden. Who let you loose?

My precious carrots uprooted, and my garden hat has been torn.

Tell me what thy lordly name is and for what reason you’re born?”

Quoth the Goose “Honk.”

Much I marvelled this ungodly fowl to hear it honk so loudly,

Though its answer little meaning – little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blest with seeing such a bird wander his garden floor-

Bird or beast, with chaos intent, wandering ‘round the garden floor,

Giving such a name as “Honk”.

But the Goose, not bad, but evil! and my garden in upheaval,

Spoke one word as if its soul in that one word did outpour.

Nothing further then it uttered- but its feathers angrily fluttered-

‘Til I scarcely more than muttered “This utter chaos, please, no more,

Please leave my poor garden alone, fixing it up will be a chore.”

Then the bird said “Honk.”

Standing there, my heart was broken by reply so aptly spoken,

“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store.

Oh, how I would be just so glad, if this goose demon, its soul so bad-

Its brash actions driving me mad, would enter my garden no more-

So the flowers and carrots could be neatly aligned as before;

Nice and orderly once more.

A whole day of being productive, ruined by a goose so destructive-

All I could do was watch in tears, standing at my small shed door.

With beady eyes, it turned the tap, and I shook, about to snap;

Why must I deal with this crap? As water covered the garden floor,

I wondered what this grim and gaunt goose could possibly have in store-

Between man and goose, this war.

In disbelief, caught up in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;

With shaking hands, I turned the tap, expecting a hidden cruel trap-

But instead the goose ran a lap, stopping at the small shed door.

With wicked eyes it stole my cap, knocking it from the small shed door.

Safe from sunburn, nevermore!

It flapped its wings, nasty and proud, turning on the radio too loud-

Pulled a bag of fertilizer, knocking all to the garden floor.

And on the lone picnic blanket, my garden’s toils: a stolen banquet;

My wellington boots asunder, and the keys at my belt no more-

Losing those keys, such a blunder: the end of the peace from before.

Quoth the Goose “Honk”.

“Goose!” cried I, “from such evil flock, you have broken my garden’s lock.

You have trespassed and wreaked havoc upon my poor garden’s floor,

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this garden land enchanted-

In this yard by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-

Giveth me the reason you disturb and destroy my garden for!”

Quoth the Goose “Honk.”

“Goose!” cried I, “from such an evil bunch, must you steal my crops for your lunch,

Or for whatever maligned intent you have taken them for?

Tell this poor old gardener why, with fluttering feathers and evil eye,

Why you’ve come here and scattered my things across the garden floor;

My crops all ripped up and battered, my sun hat on the ground, all tattered.”

Quoth the Goose “Honk.”

“Be that word a sign of farewell, bird or fiend, don’t steal our town’s bell!

Get thy feathery ass from out my yard, never return, not once, no more!

Leave no white plume as a token of that shite your soul has spoken.

From this garden, you are barred! My heart is broken, truly scarred.

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my yard!”

Quoth the Goose “Honk.”

And that goose, never dawdling, still in my yard, still is waddling;

Ripping up crops, stealing flowers, moving my tools and so much more.

And its eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming-

Filled with malice, seemingly scheming, as it destroys my garden floor.

A force of destruction this gardener has never seen before.

And the peace- nevermore!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, S, for giving me the push to write this and reading over it with me. And thank you for the verse you wrote:
> 
> “Once within my summer garden, my pride and joy that I’d worked hard on,  
> Over many a year, and forgotten hours, as did my father of yore -  
> While I weeded, gently rapping, suddenly there came a tapping,  
> As of something gently scamping, scamping on my garden floor.  
> “’Tis some bird,” I muttered “a raven perhaps, scamping on my garden floor-  
> Only this and nothing more.”


End file.
